


I'll Find You

by MistressPandora



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Apologies to the heroes of Naval Aviation for my cheesy dialogue, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, non-graphic depictions of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: John Grey's rescue of downed Marine pilot Hector Dalrymple is especially memorable for everyone on the plane that day, but for Grey the miracle is what happens after.
Relationships: Lord John Grey/Hector
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	I'll Find You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drivablecar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drivablecar/gifts).



> Normally I wouldn’t play so fast and loose with the character’s nationalities, however it was not uncommon in WWII for Europeans (including British) to immigrate to the United States and serve in the US military. 
> 
> _This fic is inspired by real events. You can read more about that at the end._

John Grey couldn’t tell if the radio operator’s voice crackling through his headset was from a carrier or another bird. “Ventura shot down, Marine in open water. Dumbos, call your approach.”

It didn’t matter, because the next voice he heard was his pilot, snapping, “Barnes en route. Any chance of getting that ground fire to pipe down?” Lieutenant Commander Barnes was as cocky a son of a bitch of any US Navy pilot, and Grey took a firm grip on the bulkhead handle to avoid being tossed as Barnes banked hard back into the shit over Rabaul.

Another radio operator answered. “Slim to none, Sir, but we’re working on it.”

Harry Quarry’s voice came over the intercom from the other waist gun. “Fewest confirmed kills buys the beers.”

Grey laughed. “You know I love drinking for free. Byrd, you okay?” He spared a glance to the fresh-faced photographer behind him fixing a lens or something to his camera. It probably had a name, but Grey didn’t really know cameras.

“So far,” Byrd replied. Not for the first time, Grey wondered why in the hell anyone would enlist in the Navy to carry a camera instead of a gun, but Barnes had been enthusiastic about letting him ride along.

“Good. Stay that way.” Grey scanned the terrain through the salt-grimy blister, eyes peeled for targets and for their Marine. The scenery might have been a tropical paradise if it wasn’t on fire and spewing bullets and anti-aircraft artillery. The bay was littered with smoking wreckage and debris. Barnes took them low but from this altitude it was still difficult to tell if anything bobbing in the ocean was a man, much less a friendly and alive.

On the second pass, Grey spotted him. The Marine swam away from a churning mess of downed bomber, the water all around him peppered with a constant barrage of bullets. _Jesus Christ_. “Man overboard,” Grey announced, ripping off his headset. Barnes took them down to land in the water. 

Grey could easily tread water in his full gear for an hour, but he couldn’t carry that Marine under heavy fire while _both_ of them were in full gear. And that Marine wouldn’t make it on his own. Grey stripped out of his boots and uniform. It was November in the southern hemisphere and hot as hell, and his uniform was sticky with sweat. Grey tossed his gear as out of the way as it could be and jumped into the bay when Barnes put them down.

The water was piss-warm, but at least he wouldn’t freeze his balls off. It was a quick swim to the Marine, the whine and pop of bullets hitting the water all around him driving him faster. As he approached the pilot, Grey made out his face. He didn't know the man, of course, and some rather serious burns marred his left side and around his eyes. "Hang in there, Devil Dog," Grey shouted above the hail of death falling all around them. "I've got you."

"My… hero," the Marine gasped.

Grey reached him and got an arm around his middle. "Think you can manage not to drown us both?"

“I can’t see shit, but I promise not to sink,” the Marine replied.

“Good man.” They made their way back toward the Dumbo, which returned fire as best she could from her prone position. The rest of the PBY flight had scrambled to provide cover, but the Japanese on the fort were damned relentless. 

The Marine paddled as well as he could manage, but it was mostly up to John. His burnt flight suit scratched at Grey's bare skin under the water. Barnes had drawn the enemy's fire, and the water around them was still pelted with high velocity rounds. 

"Shit!" The Marine yelled.

"Are you hit?" Grey didn't spare a glance at his charge, singularly focused on getting them back to the plane, arms and legs burning with the strain. 

"Just my pride," the Marine clarified. “My Colonel’s gonna be _pissed_ about the paperwork.” 

Grey almost laughed. He would have if the need to get them out of the water and spray of enemy aggression wasn't so freaking dire. At last they made it back to the dumbo where Quarry and Byrd were perched on the pontoon, waiting to help haul them out of the water. The Marine reached for them, Grey helping him lift his body out of the water. He was a slender man, packed densely with muscle like all Marines seemed to be. His soaking wet gear probably tipped the scales at two hundred pounds.

As soon as Quarry got the Marine loaded into the plane, Byrd offered Grey a hand, but he waved it off. Grey wasn't a large man, but Byrd was practically a waif by modern military standards. He was an attractive waif, but Grey thought he might yank the kid into the drink. So he dragged himself out of the water and boarded the plane behind Byrd to the sound of Barnes yelling from the cockpit.

"Enemy fighters inbound, move your asses!"

Grey almost tripped over the dripping Marine making his hasty way to a jump seat. His bare foot slipped on the wet deck, and Grey caught himself on the bulkhead. As luck would have it, it was the bulkhead directly behind the Marine, resulting in Grey's naked torso scant inches from his remarkably handsome, if sooty, face.

Flashing a cocky grin, Grey said, "Welcome aboard, shipmate. Excuse me," and made it back to his gun before Barnes got them off the water. He didn’t bother putting his uniform back on, there wasn’t time. 

“Grey, dare I ask why—”

“Can it, Quarry, and check your three o’clock,” Grey snapped, squeezing off a couple bursts of fire and downing a Japanese bomber in the process. Barnes high-tailed it out of the engagement zone, bound for open ocean, the carrier group, and medical attention for the injured Marine.

As the sounds of distant shooting at last disappeared under the hum of the engines, Grey risked a glance at the Marine, who was staring at him. “How’s the eye?” he asked.

“The spots are about gone.” The Marine blinked and shook his head as if to clear water from his ears. “Jesus. I can't tell anyone I was rescued by a bare-assed sailor." 

Grey looked down at his own naked body, having forgotten that he’d not had time to get dressed. He met the Marine’s eyes again and something intense and intentional passed between them that he prayed wasn’t his imagination. It might have been droplets of seawater from his hair that sent a shiver down his spine, but… John doubted it. “Name’s Grey,” he said before Byrd had the opportunity to take note of the profound soulgazing.

“Dalrymple,” the Marine replied. “So, do you execute all your rescue dives in the buff, or was this a special occasion?”

“The water looked nice and you looked heavy,” Grey said, pulling on his trousers. He winked at Dalrymple. “And I was correct on both accounts.”

* * *

It took a few days, but Grey managed to find Dalrymple again, by happenstance. Specifically, they ran into each other in the passageway—literally—when Dalrymple took the corner too sharp. “Bloody hell,” the Marine hissed. After a second of dumbfounded staring, Dalrymple stammered, “Naked— _Grey!_ Sorry, Grey. My apologies.” His cheeks turned a most becoming shade of pink, contrasting with the rather dashing burn scarring his temple.

Grey grinned. “You’re British. I didn’t hear your accent before.” He let a little of his own accent creep into his voice. There were plenty of men in the American Navy and Marines who’d immigrated from Europe, but Grey had only met a handful of them in the course of his short career so far. He didn’t often think about how lonely it felt until he was confronted with the opportunity to speak comfortably without getting shit from his shipmates.

Dalrymple smiled, genuine, happy, and beautiful and something short-circuited in Grey’s brain. “So are you. I didn’t want a call sign like _Cheerio_ or something equally insulting.”

“More evidence to support my theory that Marines are wholly lacking in creativity,” Grey said, teasing. It was like a sickness, he just couldn’t stop. Dalrymple was tall for a pilot. As he’d guessed by the feel of him in the water, he was packed with an unfair amount of muscle that strained the sleeves of his uniform if he moved just right.

Dalrymple feigned offense but reigned it in. “Eh, you’re probably right about that.” Grey tried not to stare at his mouth when he licked his lips. Such well-shaped lips they were, too. “Can I buy you a drink, Grey? We’ve got shore leave tomorrow after all. And you did save my life.”

“I’d like that. But please, call me John.” The effect of Grey’s offer of familiarity was exactly what he’d hoped for: a flash of white teeth as he smiled again. Christ, he’d do absolutely anything to see him smile like that. 

“Hector.”

* * *

It hadn’t been Grey’s imagination, what he’d felt pass between them on the dumbo. They’d found what they’d hoped was a quiet corner of the bar near the dock, in one of those joints that seems to pop up around every major military activity around the world. Hector spent the evening politely brushing off each woman that approached them, and they fell into easy conversation that Grey drove onward with relentless questions, hanging on Hector’s every word. 

Three rounds in, Hector leaned close to Grey and murmured in his ear. “Shall we get out of here?” He bit his lower lip, one eyebrow arched just a tiny bit, his intent clear

Grey nodded and replied, “Please.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice cool and even despite his mouth suddenly gone dry with anticipation. 

They had to venture farther into town to play it safe. Hector seemed to know exactly where to go, and found them discreet accommodations. Once behind a safely locked door, he rounded on Grey, pulled him close, and kissed him. Grey had only kissed a man once before, and that had been a hasty, regrettable thing, a check in the box that hadn’t gone anywhere. He’d kissed girls in high school on occasion, just to fit in. But kissing Hector, tasting him, the heat of his mouth, feeling the hard lines of muscle under his uniform pressed against him… it put all the pieces of the puzzle together. It wasn’t the least bit hasty and there could never be regret.

Hector pulled away, leaving Grey breathless and gasping and starving for more. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you fell on top of me on the plane. I was half-blind but I could still see what a cocky son of a bitch you are and I wanted to give you an attitude adjustment.” He leered down at Grey. “Did it work?”

“Oh God, kiss me like that again and I’ll be the most insufferable arse you’ve ever met, I promise.” Grey licked his lips, chasing the taste of him. His fingers dug into Hector’s biceps as he clung to him, suddenly dizzy with desire. Grey dove in, crashed into Hector, who wrapped his arms around him in a crushing embrace, devouring him. 

“May I take care of you?” Hector said against Grey’s mouth.

Grey nodded and Hector took over, stripping off John’s uniform first and staring at him. “Jesus, what a shame I was in too much pain to appreciate this on the plane.” Hector’s hands roamed Grey’s body, mapped him out, caressed him with such tenderness as he’d never felt before. Another kiss and Hector went to work on his own uniform, but Grey stopped him. 

“Let me. Please?” John asked. Hector dropped his hands to his sides and let Grey take his time. He peeled away the layers, piece by piece, savoring every inch of bared flesh. Grey had seen plenty of male bodies—boot camp had a way of eliminating shame about nakedness—but to _look_ , and touch and possess was entirely different. Hector was exquisitely built. Firm muscles absolutely everywhere, broad shoulders sculpted by endless pull-ups and PT, perfectly shaped buttocks that should _never_ be hidden by loose trousers. And a hard, straight cock that had Grey’s mouth watering.

The bed creaked under John’s weight, and again when Hector climbed on top of him. Grey had a snappy comeback for everything, but when Hector’s hot mouth closed around Grey’s stiff prick, all sense of language and reality left him. John threw his head back on the pillow, gasping and sinking his fingers into Hector’s short, dark hair. Hector took him right to the edge and then left him there, gasping and whimpering.

“Shh, John, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” Hector kissed the inside of Grey’s thighs, his hands never leaving John’s body. Of course Hector would take good care of him. There was no question about it.

It was a strange sensation, to be breached that first time with one of Hector’s fingers, slick from some oil he must have been carrying. Hector peppered his stomach and legs and hips with kisses, dropping them generously over all the skin he could reach.

Grey clamped his mouth shut but was unable to suppress his moan completely. Hector grinned down at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and added a second finger, working Grey open, finding all the places that made him gasp and thrash on the mattress. His cock had begun leaking and Hector lapped it up with the flat of his tongue.

“Sweet fucking Jesus,” Grey gasped. It was so much and yet not enough and John was absolutely delirious with pleasure. Then it was gone and he felt cold and empty but only for a second, and then Hector was lifting Grey’s hips. For an anxious handful of heartbeats, he was certain that Hector was too big for him. But at Hector’s instruction, he breathed and relaxed, and his body admitted him. 

“Perfection,” Hector whispered, leaning down and kissing Grey’s lips with exaggerated slowness. He started to move, gently but sure, thrusting in and out, lighting up John’s entire body with electric ecstasy. 

Nothing else in the world mattered. Not the war, not their planes, not the fact that they almost died less than a week ago and would likely be in mortal peril again before another week was out. Nothing existed outside of this questionable room and this creaky little bed, nothing beyond the sound of Hector’s breathing in Grey’s ear. Nothing outside Grey’s own quiet moans, the feel of the body on top of him, invading him, claiming him. And under all of it, the staccato hammering of John’s heart, whispering Hector’s name over and over again.

Grey came first into Hector’s hand. His lover swallowed down his groan, stifling it with his mouth. Hector tumbled over after him, his blunt fingernails digging into Grey’s thighs as he tightened his grip.

Hector collapsed on the mattress next to John and pulled him into his arms, kissing him in a drowsy approximation of the passion they’d just shared. 

“Is that your idea of an attitude adjustment?” Grey asked when he’d caught his breath.

“Never stop being insufferable.” Hector planted a kiss directly on Grey’s nose, grinning.

It was foolish to fall in love with this man, insane to risk both of their careers for it. He could almost hear his brother’s voice in his head, telling him he’s still too young to fall in love. Well, _Commander Grey_ could go right to hell, because if this wasn’t the start of something fantastic…

Hector’s handsome face turned sharply into a tragic frown. “I’m going back to my squadron tomorrow.”

Grey knew it would happen, was surprised that they hadn’t sent him back already. It was the nature of their work and there was no sense being upset about it. But still, all the things that could have been… John bit the inside of his cheek to keep his heart from breaking in the open. 

“I’ll find you again,” Hector said. “I promise. This won’t be the last time for us.” He took Grey’s chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting his face up to meet his gaze. “If I told you that I might be falling rather hard for you, would you run away screaming?”

Despite the uncertain future and sadness encroaching on their little island paradise, Grey’s lips spread in a broad grin. “I said I’d be an insufferable arse. I didn’t say I’d be a hypocrite.”

Hector laughed. “My God, you are a cocky little shit.”

“You might as well keep kissing me then, because it’s only going to get worse.”

* * *

Hector didn’t get a lot of mail, so when the lance corporal thrust an envelope into his hand, all he could do was stare down at it. The return address was horribly smudged as if someone had written it and then spat on it immediately before the ink could dry.

With a quick glance to be sure no one was gawking, he shrugged and broke the seal. Inside was a short letter, written out in the same blocky, capital letters that they hammer into you in boot camp, along with a small photograph. 

`HECTOR,`

`BYRD - THE PHOTOGRAPHER YOU MET ON THE DUMBO - HAS NO SHAME. THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE A MEMENTO OF THE TIME A BARE-ARSED SAILOR FISHED YOU OUT OF THE BAY.`

`I FOUND YOU FIRST.`

`JOHN`

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the story of a US Navy airman on a Dumbo PBY who stripped naked to rescue a downed Marine pilot taking heavy fire in the water. The Marine was burned and temporarily blinded, and the Sailor didn’t have time to put his uniform back on after he got them both back aboard the plane. Fortunately for us, an historian/photographer named Horace Bristol was there to capture the moment for posterity.
> 
> [Here is a link to the original Tumblr post about this story, along with the fantastic (NSFW) photo.](https://kozacy.tumblr.com/post/123649518979/in-the-heat-of-battle-photographer-horace-bristol)
> 
> [Here’s more info about Horace Bristol and his career on Wiki.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horace_Bristol)
> 
> [And here’s more information about the Naval Aviation Photographic Unit, in which Bristol served and without which, this story would have been lost to time.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naval_Aviation_Photographic_Unit)


End file.
